"She's just gone as far as the sidewalk with Cap'n Sam Hunniwell," was Jed's reply. "She's all right. Don't worry about her."
Ruth laughed lightly. "I don't," she said. "I know she is all right when she is with you, Jed."
Babbie came dancing back. Somewhere in a distant part of the village a dog was howling dismally.
"What makes that dog bark that way, Uncle Jed?" asked Babbie.
Jed was watching Ruth, who had walked to the edge of the bluff and was looking off over the water, her delicate face and slender figure silver-edged by the moonlight.
"Eh? . . . That dog?" he repeated. "Oh, he's barkin' at the moon, I shouldn't wonder."
"At the moon? Why does he bark at the moon?"
"Oh, he thinks he wants it, I cal'late. Wants it to eat or play with or somethin'. Dogs get funny notions, sometimes."
Babbie laughed. "I, think he's awf'ly silly," she said. "He couldn't have the moon, you know, could he? The moon wasn't made for a dog."
Jed, still gazing at Ruth, drew a long breath.